Ambition

Chapter 16

Rosalie

I wake with a start, unable to picture together the images of the unfamiliar tall white walls that surround me. On the far wall the windows are darkening and along the edge of a roofline the setting sun is cradled. I yawn heavily, stretching my stiff arms as I begin to register where I am.

Harry snores quietly against my neck, mouth wide open. His face is beautifully peaceful. The usually strong features of his face are all laxed, giving him a kind of childlike innocence. Harry's arms are tightly bound around my torso, and he squeezes me lightly as he rolls us onto his side. The television is still going loudly. I’m unsure of what time we both fell asleep but a few things in the room have changed from what I can remember. There is a blanket half sprawled over our legs- half covering the floor, and I can make out our shoes neatly tucked against the wall by the door. I hadn’t really taken Harry as a tidy guy, which makes me suspicious that someone else must have come back to the apartment.

I carefully try to reach for the remote on the floor and shut the TV off.

"Noise doesn't bother me,” Harry mumbles against my neck, "Thank God too- with the way you snore anyways."

"I do not snore!" I defend instinctively, smiling at the way he tightens his grip on my waste as he stretches against the couch. I try to scramble free, but he seems to expect this. He loosens his hold only to regrip, binding my arms to his body and forcing me closer into his side.

Something deep down tells me to be wary of letting Harry hold me like this, but I shut it down quickly. I adore Harry when he's being this sweet and playful. I would let him hold me all day on this couch if we could.

"Kidding, only kidding," he hums, eyes still closed. Harry’s groggy voice quickly becomes my favorite sound in the whole world.

"If anyone's guilty of snoring its you," I threaten, trying to keep him talking.

"Unfortunately," he starts, nestling his nose into the curvature of my jawline, "I was playing it up just for you. You haven't been asleep that long."

"How long is that long?" I ask.

"Its about eight thirty, so a few hours at most," he tells me. "I would have let you sleep all night if you'd tried. You seem like you've had a rough couple of nights."

I nod, feeling a little embarrassed. "I'm faintly recalling telling you about my family being out of town?" I question for reassurance.

"And that you don't like sleeping alone," he finishes, "Yes, I recall you telling me something like that."

My face warms as this and I can feel my blush spread down my neck. I didn’t mean to come across so inviting sounding. I wonder what Harry exactly thinks of all of this: meeting a stranger in a bookstore when he’s drunk and it actually turns into something. Does this happen to him a lot? He plays everything so coolly, it just reminds me of my inexperience with this stuff.

“You’re overthinking something,” he whispers, “You’re eyes always glaze over and you stare at odd objects that normal people don’t may that much attention to.” I can feel his eyes staring intently on my face, searching for answers.